


The Royal Tailor

by Cantatrice18



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Gen, Hidden Talents, Illegitimacy, Jossed, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Post-Canon, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dogged by a strange power only one Grisha seems to share, the newly crowned King Nikolai seeks answers to his mysterious connection with Genya, the Tailor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal Tailor

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on a misreading of the author's intent. When Nikolai's identity is revealed, Alina accuses him of having a Tailor, to which Tolya replies "I'm not a Tailor", and Nikolai cringes. From that exchange, I assumed that the real Tailor was Nikolai himself, understandable as he is a bastard and not related by blood to the royal line. He could easily have Grisha power on the other side of his family. 
> 
> Turns out that's not what Leigh Bardugo meant. Whoops. But she totally could have!
> 
> Anyway, here's the result of that little misunderstanding.

Nikolai slammed his fist down on a stack of reports he was reading, trying vainly to control his frustration. Word of the Shadow Fold’s obliteration had spread quickly, and he’d hoped that his people would see it as a sign that Grisha power could be used for good as well as evil, but the northernmost villages still held the belief that all Grisha were bent on destruction, and they were threatening to overthrow the shaky regional government in favor of Fjerda and its draconian anti-Grisha laws. Taking one deep, calming breath after another, Nikolai blinked slowly, focusing on his hand that still lay clenched upon the table. The blackened scar tissue around his fingernails had not shrunk, even though the rest of his appearance had thankfully returned to normal. Though several of his followers had remarked upon his quick recovery, he’d remained silent as to the cause of it. Only a very few trusted crewmembers from his days as a privateer knew his secret. Even as he gazed at a cut on the side of one finger, the edges of his skin knit together and the wound disappeared. His power was one of the greatest secrets he’d ever kept. There was not a drop of Grisha blood in the royal line, nor was there a single Corporalki or Materialki on his mother’s side. Yet he, the “bastard”, had been blessed or cursed with a combination of both gifts. His gift was not strong enough to be put to much use, just enough to cause his royal parents endless humiliation if it was found out. So he hid the power as he grew older, passing off his quick recovery in fights as having a sound constitution and a reckless spirit. He soon discovered the advantages of his gift: the ability to disguise his appearance when he needed to blend in with the crowd, or when he took on his persona of Sturmhond the privateer. But when it came to real healing, he was at a loss. He smiled mirthlessly at the blackened skin. He’d never been trained by Healers, though he’d read many of their texts. He’d experimented enough to know that his power would never be strong enough to save lives or cure the sick. His skills lay in the art of deception. He was a Tailor, the lowest and most despised of the Grisha – appropriate, he reasoned, for the bastard son of the royal family. His gifts were unique, or so he’d thought. In all his time travelling Ravka and beyond, he’d found no one that shared his skills. How surprising it had been, then, to learn that another Tailor had been working in the palace for years while he was away. He paused, unwilling to let his thoughts dwell on Genya. He still did not know what to make of her. She was a poisoner, yes, and responsible for the old King’s descent into illness and infirmity, yet she was also a victim of circumstance and the King’s cruelty. He toyed with the idea of asking her to aid him in disguising the scars, but abandoned it almost immediately. He could not find it in his heart to hate her, but he could not trust her either. Nonetheless, he found it impossible to shut her out of his mind completely. It could not be a coincidence that she was the only other Tailor to be found within a thousand mile radius. Where had she come from? Annoyed by his own preoccupation, he scribbled a hasty note on a spare bit of parchment, sealed it with the royal insignia, and rang for a servant. When a young man in the white and gold livery of the palace entered, Nikolai handed him the folded parchment. “Take this to my spymaster at once. Tell him to be swift and subtle. I need answers as soon as possible.”

The servant bowed and departed, leaving Nikolai alone with his thoughts once more. If he could have the answers to Genya’s past, perhaps he could discover what had made her so different from the other Grisha, and in doing so, could discover why he himself had been cursed with so strange a set of talents. He could only hope the royal spies could provide him with the closure he so desperately needed.

…

Two anxious weeks later, Nikolai received a note from his spymaster, requesting an audience. Unable to wait for a return message to be delivered, Nikolai went in search of the spymaster himself. He found the man in a small office in a dingy corner of the Little Palace. The spymaster looked up as Nikolai entered, and rose stiffly to his feet. Sven Larsnik was in his sixties, with white hair cut close to the scalp and a long scar marring his left cheek. Nikolai had recruited him six years earlier, after learning of a plot by Shu nobles to infiltrate the palace guard and assassinate the King. With Sven’s information, Nikolai had managed to foil the plot without his royal parents (or their advisors) any the wiser. From that moment on, Sven had been his trusted assistant, the leader of a highly skilled band of agents that hid in the most dangerous parts of the world, on the lookout for trouble coming his way. Nikolai motioned for Sven to sit and pulled up a chair on the other side of the desk. “Tell me,” he said, without preamble.

Sven drew a set of papers from a hidden drawer beneath his desk, laying them out so Nikolai could see them. “There isn’t much to find. She was born in midwinter, twenty-three years ago, in a village called Cressa, near Ulensk. Her mother was unmarried, and died three years ago of fever; her father is unknown. She was taken to the Little Palace at age five to be trained as a Grisha. When she was eleven, the Darkling decreed that she be trained as a Tailor, not a Corporalki as she’d originally been named. She continued her studies, working with both Corporalki and Materialki in turn. At age fifteen, the Darkling bestowed her upon the Queen as a gift. A year later, at the summer equinox celebrations, she drew the attentions of the King.”

Nikolai hurriedly held up a hand to stop him. He knew well enough what had happened then. “There’s no information about her father, not even hearsay?”

Sven shook his head. “Nothing specific, though he is rumored to have been a nobleman, perhaps from one of the surrounding fiefs.”

Nikolai sighed. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how to proceed from here.”

He stood and Sven did the same, bowing as Nikolai made as if to leave. The young man paused at the door. “Perhaps if your spies looked for records of a group of nobles passing through the town nine months before her birth…” It was a long shot, but he’d found in his experience that noblemen in groups were often more reckless, more likely to prey upon girls in the villages than if they were travelling alone. Sven nodded, and Nikolai left, shutting the door behind him. He walked slowly back to the Palace, lost in thought. Genya’s mother was not gifted, or she would have served the Darkling as a Grisha. That left the unknown father, a nameless nobleman. He supposed her Grisha blood might be traced further back – power often skipped generations – but in peasant villages few records were kept of that sort of thing. He paused, leaning against a doorframe. Sixteen. A wave of nausea swept over him. He knew that many lower class girls were married at that age, but it still seemed so young. At sixteen he’d barely begun to think of love, while she… He bit his lip, forcibly driving the images from his mind. It was clear now that if he wanted answers he would have to ask her directly. Perhaps her mother had mentioned the identity of her father to her. If she knew anything all that could help, he had to know. He’d already decided not to tell her of his investigation into her past, but a few innocuous questions couldn’t hurt. 

…

That night he waited in his study, sitting in a large leather chair by the hearth to ward off the chill. He’d watched her that evening as he dined with the Grisha, watched her laugh and joke with her friends and tease David, her lover. He wondered again and again where she’d come from. A knock at the door jolted him out of his reverie. “Come in,” he called, and Genya entered. She bowed, then straightened, looking at him curiously. He had not told her why he’d summoned her, unwilling to divulge the fact that he was investigating her. She had many allies among the Grisha, and any hint that he might be targeting her could lead to nasty altercations between himself and her many supporters. He could hardly blame the Grisha for wanting to defend her. During the war with the Darkling and his forces, she’d proven herself to be brave and resourceful. Her help had been vital in the final battle; without the concoctions she and David had prepared, the casualty list would have been much, much longer. He gestured towards the chair across from him, and watched her approach with a keen eye. Even in the firelight, he could see the scars that crisscrossed her face and neck, remnants of her torture at the hands of the Darkling. Though they would likely never heal completely, they faded almost imperceptively with each passing day. Whether intentional or not, her Tailor’s magic was hard at work restoring her appearance to her former glory. Even now, with the scars still painfully apparent, she was still one of the most striking women he’d ever met. She’d reached the chair and now settled herself gracefully across from him. “Your Majesty. You called for me?”

He nodded, gathering his wits about him. “I did. I have questions for you, questions that only you can answer.”

Her face took on a guarded expression. “Questions? About what, may I ask?”

He forced himself to meet her sharp gaze. “About yourself or, more accurately, your family.”

Genya let out a breath that she’d been holding. A bit of the tension in her shoulders lessened, but she still frowned. “My family?”

“Your parentage. I believe there may be more out there with your type of power, and knowing your origins would help immensely in tracking down other Tailors.” 

It was a half-truth he’d concocted, a plausible enough reason for her to answer personal questions. If she believed her answers could help others like her, she would probably be more forthcoming. And after all, he did intend to help other Tailors – one Tailor in particular. She seemed to accept his reasoning, for she nodded slowly. “I’ll do my best to answer, but I’m afraid I don’t know much. I left home when I was five to be trained at the Little Palace.”

“That’s alright – any information you can give will be better than nothing.” He hesitated for just a moment. “I suppose you should start at the beginning.”

Genya nodded. “If you’d like. I was born in a village near Fjerda, far to the north. My mother’s name was Vianna. She was alone in the world, with no family or friends, but she cared for me as best she could.” Genya’s mouth twisted. “I could not comprehend, as a child, why the other children shunned me, but as I grew older I understood the cause of their distain. My mother never married; I was a bastard.” She stopped, glancing up at him with some trepidation, but he motioned for her to continue. She took a deep breath. “I never knew my father’s identity. I’m not sure my mother even knew. She claimed he was a nobleman who had paraded through our village with streams of attendants and great fanfare. Often she described the sight of my supposed father’s retinue: pennants waving, girls throwing flowers at the nobles as they passed. I often wonder whether she invented the tale in order to make me feel like more than an illegitimate daughter of a peasant woman. But she told such wonderful stories…” She trailed off, a far away look in her eye.

Nikolai waited a moment, then cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

Genya shook her head. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I was too young to remember, and once I reached the Little Palace I tried to set the past behind me. None of the Grisha needed to know my parentage, or the fact that I bore my mother’s name, ‘Safin’. It became clear soon enough that I wasn’t like the others; I could hardly be expected to flaunt the circumstances of my birth when I was already so looked down upon.”

She had turned away from him, and it was all he could do to keep from taking her hand. He restrained himself, barely. “Thank you. That’s all for now. Please tell me if you think of anything, anything that might be of use. I would hate for another Tailor to go through life thinking themselves alone and unwanted.”

She nodded and rose, bowing to him as she left. Nikolai remained by the fire, lost in thought once more. 

…

Weeks passed, and Nikolai had all but given up hope of finding Genya’s elusive father. He’d kept himself busy rebuilding the infrastructure of a fractured nation, first by ordering that roads be built across the sea of sand, then stationing an extra garrison at each of the major passes going to neighboring countries. Shu and Fjerda had sent felicitations on his ascendance to the monarchy, but Nikolai wasn’t fool enough to believe that his new position afforded him any leeway when it came to dealing with Ravka’s land-hungry neighbors. He also had to deal with the deep-rooted resentment towards the Grisha that had built up in the First Army for centuries. The Grisha council had taken charge of the remaining members of the Second Army, and their authority had so far gone largely unchallenged, but there was still a lot of work to be done. Meanwhile, Nikolai was forced to sit across from Genya in meetings, wondering again and again whether anything in her past could help him understand the reasons behind his own power. 

The leaves had already begun to change color and fall from the trees when a missive finally arrived on Nikolai’s desk, sealed with the familiar plain black seal of the Spymaster. Nikolai ripped it open, scanning the message, and read:

_Nobility identified as a diplomatic party from Fjerda, making their way to the capital. The party stopped in the village of Cressa for one night only. Among the male travellers were the Fjerdan emissaries, the first sons of the Jokarin and Rivjata families, and younger sons from the Luaja and Markheti houses. ___

__Nikolai froze, staring at the paper in front of him, his mind racing. Fjerdan emissaries, headed to the capital. What had his mother said to him, the night she’d left for the Southern Colonies? Magnus Opjer, his true father, had been an ambassador from Fjerda. Could it be that he had fathered another child before reaching the capital, this time on a peasant woman? It might explain Nikolai’s powers, their strange similarity with Genya’s gifts. The full implications of his supposition suddenly hit him like a blow to the chest. Siblings. Half siblings, yes, but with shared blood between them. He rested his head in his hands. He couldn’t possibly tell her. Only Alina knew of his true parentage; if word spread that he was not a member of the royal line, the kingdom would be brought to its knees. Factions would spring up, each fighting to gain legitimacy over the Bastard King. Rumors had abounded for years, until now unsubstantiated. But the smallest proof would lead to his ruin. He could not trust a woman who had switched allegiance time and time again, not with this most vital of secrets. And yet he wanted to. Saints, how he wanted to. He knew, somehow, that she could never betray him once she learned of their connection. _Unless she thinks you’re lying_ , said a nagging voice inside his head. _Unless she believes you’re using her the way the Darkling used her, preying on her emotions in order to bend her to your will_. Nikolai frowned. Despite his own certainty, he had no proof to offer her that they shared a father. He could not risk further investigation, as it would doubtless lead him across the Fjerdan border, somewhere he was not yet willing to go. Rumors of his Fjerdan blood would lead to all-out civil war, northerners against southerners. No, he needed a different sort of proof, the sort that only Grisha could provide. Grabbing his coat from the back of a chair where he’d left it, he headed to the Little Palace.__

______..._ _ _ _ _ _

______He found David cloistered away in the back corner of the Materialki workshops, tinkering with the innards of a clock. Looking closer, Nikolai saw that the clock measured, not time, but the movements of the planets. He cleared his throat and David looked up at him, wearing a bemused expression. Nikolai smiled. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have a project for you, a challenge if you will.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David blinked. “Is it important?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Very.” Nikolai drew up a chair, checking to see that no one was listening, but the workshop was abandoned: the other Materialki were all at lunch. “Do you remember our talk, some months ago, about the consequences of being a product of two parents, each parent contributing half of the person to make a complete whole?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David nodded. “Yes, it’s a basic theory, set down years ago by—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I know, I’ve read the theories. I understand you’ve done work isolating the components of the blood in order to identify illness. Could you go further, to an even smaller and more basic level, to separate the components that came from the father and those that came from the mother?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t see how that’s useful.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Think how it could be used to track diseases passed on through the mother’s line or the father’s. Or how to identify a lost child. You might even be able to discover which parent was the carrier of Grisha power, and which wasn’t. If you could compare one person’s blood to another’s and discover the similarities between them, it could have huge consequences.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai leaned forward, his eyes fixed on David. “All I need is to tell whether two samples are the same or different. Will you take on this project for me? I need answers, and this may be the only way to get them.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David nodded slowly, and Nikolai could tell that his mind was already working. “I may need a Corporalki to help with the blood part, though perhaps not.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ask Genya. She should be able to get you everything you need. This project is secret, understand – no one, outside of the two of you, is to know anything about it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David nodded and Nikolai left him to his work._ _ _ _ _ _

______…_ _ _ _ _ _

______He felt Genya watching him throughout the next two weeks, though she did not approach him (for which he was grateful). He checked in often with David, and was satisfied by his progress. Like he did with most things, David had immersed himself in this new challenge and hardly spent a moment away from it. Nikolai overheard Zoya complain that David was absolutely hopeless on the Grisha council, his absentmindedness worse than ever, but for once Nikolai was glad of David’s preoccupation._ _ _ _ _ _

______Then one day he went to check on David, only to find Genya at David’s desk, toying with the sketches and lists of figures David had made. She looked up as she heard Nikolai approach. “An interesting pet project, your Majesty. Is there a specific use you have in mind for it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She was sharp. He decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I think it may be possible to trace a source of power through the blood. If we can gather data from the remaining Grisha, we’ll have a better chance of tracking down new carriers of the gift, and we may gain insight into the origin of Grisha power.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She still watched him closely, but some of her wariness had faded. “Do you intend this device to be carried from town to town, then, when the examiners travel to find new students?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai rubbed at a knot of tension in his shoulder. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. We have to see if the device even works before we make plans.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And you’ll ask every Grisha to submit blood for testing?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Only if it works.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“How will you know?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai hesitated. “I will submit my own blood for analysis, to form a baseline of sorts. From there we’ll need a Grisha volunteer. I know David would be willing to—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’ll do it,” she interrupted._ _ _ _ _ _

______He smiled inwardly. He’d known the suggestion of David giving his blood over to the project would get a rise out of her. She was fiercely protective of the young Materialki. And it was, after all, her blood that he was after. “If you’re sure…”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She nodded. “I may not have the same uses for my power as the others do, but it should still register. That is, if you two have done your calculations correctly.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai smiled at her. “We have. The device should be ready for testing in the next few days—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sooner than that, “ interrupted a soft voice. David had returned, carrying a small pouch made of black velvet. Nikolai shifted to one side to let him pass. David carefully drew out several metal disks and a strange device made of glass and steel. Beside it he placed a book in which to record his findings. “I think I have it now. Ready to test, as soon as there’s a sample.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai drew a short dagger from his belt and made a small cut on his wrist, letting several drops of blood fall into one of the metal dishes. After a moment’s hesitation, Genya reached up and removed a pin from her hair, jabbing it into her index finger and letting her blood fall into a separate dish. Nikolai smothered a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s that then. We’ll let you get to work. Let me know the moment you have any results.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David nodded, his hands already fiddling with the steel device. Nikolai had turned to go when he heard Genya say, “Wait.” He looked back at her. Her hand was outstretched towards him, the wound on her finger already gone. “Let me heal that wrist for you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai backed away from her, shaking his head firmly. “No. No, it’s best that you don’t. But thank you.” He left as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the look of confusion and hurt that had flashed across her face. For some reason he didn’t want her to touch him, not yet. Maybe it was his fear that she would somehow sense his power as a Tailor, or maybe it was the memory of what she’d done to the Old King. He hoped it was one of those reasons, and not because of her scarring; he liked to think of himself as somewhat of a decent person, a bit compromised at times, a bit rough around the edges, but altogether honorable. Reviling a girl because she was the victim of unthinkable cruelty was deplorable, and he prayed that he was a better person than that._ _ _ _ _ _

______…_ _ _ _ _ _

______Waiting, Nikolai decided, should be considered a form of torture. It took David three whole days to come up with an answer, and when Nikolai finally received a message from the Materialki he practically ran from the War Room where he’d been meeting with his foreign advisors. He took the steps to the Little Palace two at a time, ignoring the startled looks of the various Grisha he passed, and arrived at the workshops completely out of breath. David was sitting at his table near the back, frowning down at his little device. Nikolai crossed to him, clutching a stitch in his side and cursing the fact that, with all his new duties as ruler, he’d gotten so out of shape. “Well?” he panted. “You have results?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David looked up at him forlornly, like a lost dog. “I don’t. I mean, I do, but they make no sense. I’ve tested and retested the samples three times, with the same results, gone over my notes again and again…” Indeed, David’s notes in the journal next to him were so worn that it was hard to read the scribbles of ink that filled the pages. “They’re definitive, and yet wrong. I can’t understand it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“How are they wrong?” Nikolai held his breath, knowing what David would say._ _ _ _ _ _

______“There’s too much of a match between the samples. Far too much. I was concerned about contamination, that perhaps the two samples had mixed, so I thought if you could give another sample, I—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai raised a hand to stop him. “How much of a match? Tell me, David.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David bit his lip. “Fifty percent.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai closed his eyes, exhaling a long slow breath. He’d known all along what the results would look like, but it was another thing entirely to have all his suspicions confirmed by an awkward Materialki in an ink-blotched kefta. “Thank you, David. You’ve done good work.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No, I haven’t,” David insisted. “There’s something I’m missing, I—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Leave it be for now, David. I know you have other projects to work on.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Oh, and David? Tell no one of these experiments. And send Genya to me as soon as you see her.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______David nodded, still looking confused, and Nikolai departed._ _ _ _ _ _

______…_ _ _ _ _ _

______Knowing David’s penchant for forgetfulness, he sent a message to Genya that she should meet him in his study after dinner. While he waited for her he assembled the various pieces of information he’d received from the Spymaster and David, as well as his own research. He’d just finished when there was a knock at the door and Genya entered, dressed elegantly in a red silk kefta with blue embroidery. The sight of her made his mind go momentarily blank, but he quickly recovered, and motioned for her to approach. She walked slowly and gracefully to the center of the room and stopped, her glance darting around. She was always slightly on guard around him, perhaps because she feared retribution for poisoning the old King. Tonight he hoped to change her feelings towards him. They both had thought themselves alone in the world, without family. Now he had proof that they’d been wrong. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice falsely bright to hide his nervousness. “I wanted to apprise you as to the results of David’s experiments.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“He told me he’d been having trouble, that he might need another sample from me. I said I’d give it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No need.” Nikolai paused, unsure of where to begin. “Genya, that night in the mountains, the night before the King and Queen went into exile, I spent a long time talking with my mother. She told me many things about my past that had been shrouded in secrecy for too long. Every peasant and his dog knows I’m not the Old King’s real son, but it was another thing entirely to learn my true father’s name and rank. He was a Fjerdan, an ambassador, apparently quite the shipbuilder as well.” He paused, his focus shifting to one of the reports on his desk. “I kept looking, you know, for records of your family.” He heard the rustle of silk as she stiffened. “I knew there had to be something, some clue that would reveal your father’s identity. And in the end I found it. Your father was a nobleman who passed through town as part of a diplomatic entourage, travelling from Fjerda to the capital.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Do you know who he is, his name?” she whispered. He nodded and she stared at him. “How can you know that, so many years later?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“The blood test that David created. It told me everything I needed to know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Genya frowned. “But the results were wrong, David said so.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No, the results were right. David simply could not believe them. But you will, I think.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He watched as she pored through her memories, searching for an answer. It wasn’t until he saw the smallest gleam of understanding in her eye that he smiled. “My father’s name was Magnus Opjer, a dashing young shipbuilder and captain in the Fjerdan King’s navy. He took up the post of ambassador at the Palace just over a year before I was born. On his way, he and his entourage stopped for the night in a village called Cressa.” Reaching forward, Nikolai took her hand in his. “David’s results confirm that we have the same father. You and I are half-siblings, separated by rank and circumstance.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why?” Genya whispered, and Nikolai blinked at her in confusion. “Why would you go to so much trouble to find that out? Has this been your goal all along? You said to me before that you were searching for other Tailors, others with powers like mine.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And so I have. Indeed, most of my life has been spent searching for another Tailor, someone else with that strange unique set of powers. But then I found one.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Her eyes widened in shock. “You did? Who?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You.” He could tell that she did not understand. Closing his eyes, he allowed the trace of power within him to flow down his arm and over the palm of her hand. He heard her gasp, felt her hand tense in his. Then a strange and wonderful sensation made its way through his fingers, slowly travelling over the back of his hand and up his arm. He opened his eyes and saw a soft light emanating from their clasped hands. Genya’s power mingled with his. He felt safe, whole in a way he hadn’t in many years. Genya’s expression was one of wonder and amazement. He knew she must be feeling the same energy he was, the connection that came from a shared source of power within themselves. Slowly the light faded, leaving him weak in the knees. He hurriedly sat back, resting his head on his hands to ward off nausea. Genya, perhaps because she was more used to using her power, seemed to have suffered no ill effects. When Nikolai felt well enough to look up he found her staring at her hand, turning it this way and that. Where once there had been jagged, raised scars from the Darkling’s attack, there now remained only a subtle pattern of white lines, barely visible against her alabaster skin. Her shoulders were shaking, but she seemed too overcome to truly cry. Nikolai rose and helped her to her feet, gathering her into an embrace. They were connected now, in a way few others could understand. Both had thought themselves alone. To be proved wrong seemed like the greatest thing in the world. There was a knock at the door and the pair of them quickly jumped apart, but it was only a messenger, informing him that the 33rd Regiment was due to arrive the next morning, and needed garrisoning. Nikolai jotted down a quick response and sent the messenger on his way. When he turned back to Genya, his good humor had faded. “It has to remain between us. I can’t acknowledge you, you realize that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Genya nodded briskly. “Of course not. Doing so would undermine your very claim to the throne. I assume no one knows about your power either, then?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No. Tolya always hid my appearance when I masqueraded as Sturmhond, I just helped his work along a bit. I’ve read as much as I could lay my hands on, but I’ve never been trained. The royal line has no Grisha blood in it. Admitting my power would be akin to admitting myself to be a bastard, not a blood descendant of the King.” He glanced up at her, eyes lingering on her face and the curve of her lips. “Not that sometimes I haven’t been tempted to do just that, and shout my true parentage to the skies.” He studied the floor, suddenly awkward in her presence. “You know, that night, when I found out what the King was, what he’d done to you, I felt this shameful relief that I was a bastard and not related to a man who would abuse his power so.” He laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “But it seems my relief was misplaced. After all, my father, OUR father seduced both our mothers and abandoned them to their fates. No matter how I try to avoid it, I seem doomed to be related to dishonorable men.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Genya reached out, taking his hands in hers. “Your Majesty, it wasn’t like that, not with my mother. She spoke so highly of my - of our father, weaving tales about him and telling me to be proud I was his child. She cared for him, though I don’t think she loved him, and she chose to have me. There are many ways in which a woman can rid herself of a shameful child she is unwilling to carry. Had he forced her, I doubt she would have suffered the humiliation of bearing me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Rid herself…” His eyes suddenly widened. “Don’t tell me you ever—”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Genya shook her head, smiling sadly. “No. Never. I had protection against that, at least. The Darkling ensured that I could not bear children. If I’d become pregnant, I’d have been far less useful to him at court.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai shivered slightly at the sound of the Darkling’s name. What hadn’t that monster taken from Genya? He’d forced her into the King’s arms, kept her away from anyone who might have become her friend, mutilated her beyond recognition… He jumped as she pulled him into an embrace. “Oh, my poor Sobatchka.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______They stood wrapped in each other’s arms, for how long he really didn’t know. A part of him wanted to stay there forever, but he knew he’d have to let go. When he heard the city bells tolling the hour, he released her and stepped away. “Thank you. I needed that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I could tell.” She reached up, resting a cool palm against his cheek. “I’m here for you. You can send for me at any time, and no one else has to know the reason why. After all,” she gestured towards herself, “it isn’t as though anyone is likely to suspect you of having a torrid affair with me. My torrid days are over.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Are they, though?” Nikolai caught her hand and held it towards the light, his fingers gliding over the newly smooth skin. “I know the healers haven’t been able to do very much, but our combined power certainly seemed to have had an effect. I’m an amateur, to be sure, but if you were willing—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“We start tomorrow,” Genya interrupted, flashing him a bright smile. “You have a lot to learn, my brother.” A thought struck her and she laughed. “My LITTLE brother! Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for now. I’m going to make your life absolutely miserable, just to make up for lost time.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nikolai smiled, raising one arched brow at her. “Are you threatening your monarch?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“My monarch? No, never.” She winked at him. “But my baby brother? Absolutely.” She skipped to the door, long red hair trailing behind her, then shot him a meaningful look. “You’ve never had an older sister before. It’s time you learned what you’ve been missing.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She left without another word, and without bowing. He shook his head, smiling ruefully. She was going to be a handful, of that he was certain, but he had no doubt that lessons with her would be worth it. As for keeping his secret, she’d lived at court long enough to know when to hold her tongue. The next few years would be hard, as he worked to bring his country back from the brink of destruction, but he had powerful allies, even more powerful friends, and a sister of whom he could be proud._ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
